


Guardian Angels

by pinstripedJackalope



Series: TSC Oneshots [5]
Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec is out the whole time lol, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Unconsciousness, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope
Summary: Another oneshot.  After Alec's scuffle with Abbadon, Magnus takes care of him.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood
Series: TSC Oneshots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659478
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Guardian Angels

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Falling Angels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088835) by [pinstripedJackalope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope). 



> There's no actual self-harm in this one, just references to it. 
> 
> This is set just after Alec is hurt by the greater demon Abbadon in City of Bones.

When Magnus slips the brace from Alexander Gideon Lightwood’s wrist in the wake of the shadowhunter’s scuffle with the greater demon Abbadon, he has to pause to take a deep breath. Alec is unconscious, his face drawn with pain, has been for the last several hours—Magnus was starting to get concerned that he’d missed a wound. Turns out he didn’t. 

Magnus lets out the breath, trailing his purple lacquered nails over the marks, one… and then the other… taking in the one closer to Alec’s hand, which has almost faded away to a deep, silvery scar, indicative of the mark having been activated many, many times.

This is far from the first time that Magnus has seen a pain rune. The first time he’s seen one since, oh… must be 1790, maybe, but far from the very first. The first time was over three hundred years ago, before he’d hit his first century. It happened in Lithuania, and came about because of a dispute between a shadowhunter and a downworlder.

The shadowhunter was clearly in the wrong, was the thing. They had wrongly searched a downworlder’s home looking for signs of dark magic and had broken three priceless heirlooms. The clave, however, didn’t see it like that—they saw it as justified violence. They overlooked the case when the downworlder, a young and naive vampire, asked for reparations.

It could have ended there, with a bitter downworlder and a gloating shadowhunter, just as many such disputes had ended. But the shadowhunter, despite having but a meager salary of their own, wanted to make things right. They offered the only thing they could to repay their debts—their own pain. They offered to bear the torment of three pain runes. And the vampire agreed.

It was highly illegal, to exact extrajudicial punishment not sanctioned by the clave against a shadowhunter, so they did it in a downworld haunt. There were many downworlders in attendance, plus the shadowhunter and their _parabatai_. Magnus was there, as well as a distinct-looking older warlock with green skin, winding horns, and an impassive expression. Magnus had sat beside him as the shadowhunter’s _parabatai_ slowly traced the three runes into the shadowhunter’s uncovered back.

The torment… it went on for hours. They watched as the shadowhunter knelt in the middle of the dirty floor with sweat running down their skin, the three marks stark against their back. Their parabatai crouched before them, foreheads pressed together, pain shared between them. There were jeers from those watching, laughter, and a great cheer went up when the shadowhunter began to cry. But they took the torment. They refused to back down.

It was, in some senses, a beautiful moment. Retribution for all the slights of the shadowhunters and the clave, especially those against the downworld. But still, despite having no love lost for the shadowhunters then, Magnus couldn’t help the comment that crossed his lips.

“This is barbaric and, frankly, ridiculous,” he’d said, frowning over his mead. “Why can’t the shadowhunters just pay up?” 

The green warlock beside him hadn’t cracked even the barest hint of a smile. Instead he’d inclined his head just slightly, his horns sweeping. 

“This is change. Slow, extremely slow, but change all the same,” he’d said.

Magnus scoffed. Shadowhunters didn’t change. They did barbaric things to warlocks, they did barbaric things to one another, and now they were doing barbaric things to themselves. That wasn’t change.

The older warlock looked over as he said so, and though he looked as staunch as ever Magnus thought he detected a slight bit of humor in his voice as he replied, “You should have seen the middle ages.”

And, though Magnus didn’t believe it at the time, that warlock, Ragnor Fell, was right. Three centuries past and the accords are in full swing, downworlder trophies are a thing of the past, and Magnus works side by side with the New York Institute almost more often than not. The shadowhunters still aren’t his favorite people, as they’re still painfully uptight, but he hasn’t been witness to a pain rune, one self-inflicted or inflicted by another, in over two hundred years. And yet…

He sighs, leaning back in the chair beside Alec’s bed. He may think the shadowhunters need to let loose a little, but he still doesn’t like to see them in pain. Especially not one so young. Especially not pain clearly inflicted in secret.

God, what a mess. He’d kicked out the younger Lightwood hours ago when he began to draw out the demon’s venom from Alec’s body, not needing the distraction, but she wouldn’t stay out for much longer—Magnus has to do something about this in whatever time he has left. With that in mind, he quickly summons a particular potion from his loft, plucking it from the air beside him.

Two drops should be sufficient to counteract the marks. Not many potions could, but Magnus isn’t the High Warlock of Brooklyn for nothing. He sighs again before gently propping up Alec’s head, opening his mouth and placing two drops on his tongue. 

The effect is instantaneous. The creases between Alec’s brows smooth out and the tension leaves his shoulders and stomach, leaving him boneless in Magnus’s grip. Magnus watches for a long moment to make sure nothing else is amiss before he slowly begins to tug the brace back into place, covering the marks once again. He pulls the sheets up to Alec’s shoulders. Then he sits back once more.

He’ll have to call in Isabelle soon. Preferably before she bursts through the wards he put on the door of her own accord. But for now… for now he’s content to sit by Alec’s side and wait for him to wake.

It takes most of the night. He clearly hasn’t been sleeping well, as he’s out for several hours longer than Magnus knows is normal for this sort of healing. A result of the pain runes, perhaps. It’s hard to catch sleep when your body is in tune with the ringing reverberations of agony. 

He starts to come around, stirring under the sheets, just before dawn. Magnus breathes out, letting go of the tension he’d been holding. He considers, for a moment, waiting for Alec to fully wake, but… no. He’s been witness to too much of Alec’s private self already. It’s time to go. 

With that decided, Magnus stands up. He resists the urge to run one purple nail down the place where the creases between Alec’s brows had once been, restraining himself admirably. With a snap of his fingers he undoes the magical lock on the door, allowing Isabelle to take the room by storm. She pushes past him just as Alec’s stormy blue eyes begin to slip open, all but pouncing on him as Magnus walks, silently, out the door.


End file.
